


Conversations With Dead People

by Prettyy_vacant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But don't worry he hasn't been dead all along, F/M, Gendry sees dead people, POV Gendry Waters, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettyy_vacant/pseuds/Prettyy_vacant
Summary: Gendry finds himself being reminded of his biggest regret by unexpected ghosts from his past. They all warn him of what's to come, but he is reluctant to heed their words.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 15
Kudos: 101





	Conversations With Dead People

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this sprang into my mind this morning when I randomly thought about one of my favorite episodes of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (same title I used for this) and tried to fit the concept behind it into the world of Gendrya. This is what happened. 
> 
> I just wanted to get this out so it's unbetad, sorry for any mistakes.

It was a crisp autumn morning at the Crossroads Inn when Gendry saw her again.

He was preparing for another long, mindless day of forging. He was stoking the fire in the hearth, basking in its warmth after a cold night when a soft, high voice caught his ear.

Gendry stilled. He listened for a moment, trying to catch the words to match the melody that sounded so familiar. They were on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach, but a shiver ran down his spine nonetheless.

Gendry turned, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw her standing in the doorway.

The sunlight shone behind her, shadows partly obscuring her face, but he’d know that smile anywhere.

“Mother?”

Her smile widened as she stepped further into the forge, the light cast by the fire illuminating her fully.

Gendry felt the tears forming in his eyes, and could do nothing to stop them from falling. His eyes drifted to her honey-colored hair, the hair she’d constantly push out of her face as she zipped around the tavern she worked so hard at to keep them fed and warm. Her soft, delicate hands, that she would pick him up with, swinging him around, laughter bubbling up from both their chests. He finally brought his gaze back to her face, her sweet brown eyes he sought comfort in so often as a child in an effort to keep his anger at bay.

He was going mad. That was the only explanation. His mother died when he was seven, there was no way she was standing in front of him right now. The thought made the hole in his chest pulse, growing a little wider with every beat.

“My sweet boy,” she spoke softly, “what has become of you?”

Gendry swallowed thickly, unsure of how to answer her. All he wanted to do was run to her, bury his face in her hair, and weep until his eyes had nothing left to give. Instead, he stood rooted in the spot, turning everything over in his head that had led him up to this point.

“I….” he began, almost choking on his words as a sob threatened to wrack his entire body, “I am lost, mother.”

Her eyes softened as she slowly stepped forward until she was right in front of him.

“You are, my son, but you will find your way,” she raised her hand as though to place it on his cheek, but suddenly dropped it less than an inch away.

“H-how?” Gendry asked her, dropping his gaze to the floor in shame, unable to look his mother in the eyes. “to where? Where am I supposed to go? I don’t know anymore, mother, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

He glanced up again when she didn’t answer, awed by the sweet smile on her face that he didn’t even know he had missed so much. Gendry continued to stare at her earnestly until she finally spoke.

“You will know when the time comes.” His mother answered solemnly as she stared wistfully at her son, “She will be here soon, and you must follow her, wherever she goes. Dark times are coming, Gendry, and she will need you more than ever.”

“ _She_ can burn in all seven hells for all I care,” He spat, his face darkening at the realization of who she was speaking of. Harwin had rode to the inn that morning to inform them Lady Stoneheart would be there in a week’s time. “I joined the Brotherhood, I _chose_ them over… I chose them because I believed in what they did, but _she_ has turned it into nothing but an empty quest for revenge. I want nothing to do with her anymore, and The Others can take her _needing_ me.”

“You have to, son,” his mother implored, almost desperately, “You have to, she needs you, and she can’t do it without you. Do you understand?”

“I want nothing to do with her. I’m only still here because someone has to protect the children.” He ground out through gritted teeth.

And that was the truth; he had given up hope long ago, and lost his faith in the outlaws he had once thought would be his family, his brothers. He had chosen to stay at the Crossroads and protect Jeyne, Willow, and the orphans. He owed it to her, at least, to make sure some good came out of his choice.

She gazed at him thoughtfully, “What is it that you fear, my dear Gendry?”

“Not _her,_ if that’s what you’re implying.” He snapped insolently, and another wave of shame crashing into him immediately.

“No, that is not what I think,” she replied gently, “I think you’re afraid of facing the fact that you might have made the wrong choice. You’re afraid that you’ll never achieve atonement for it, by spending your days molding steel for outlaws who no longer hold to a code you admired so, for arming men who following a mother lost to death and grief.”

His mother’s words hit Gendry like a punch to the stomach.

He turned away from her then, unable to face her. She was right, and she knew it. He knew it. That was exactly what he feared the most. And he had no idea what to do about it. He breathed deeply before asking his next question.

“What do I do?” He asked softly.

“Be brave.” She answered in barely a whisper, “fear cuts deeper than swords.”

Gendry turned abruptly, eyes wide, but all he saw was an empty forge.

-

It was a blustery, cold evening a few days later when his guilt almost swallowed him whole.

Gendry found himself finished with his work before the sun had set, which meant he supped at the inn with everyone for the first time in a while. He had been rather morose since he had seen his mother, and had taken all of his meals in the forge. It was almost nice to be around everyone again.

After supper, Jeyne took him to the stables to point out a door that needed fixing, and Gendry ran to the forge to grab his tools to mend it. He grabbed what he needed, and as he turned to leave, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“You were supposed to protect her, boy.”

Gendry stared wide-eyed at the old man in front of him, at his unkempt beard, bent back, and filthy black clothing. He had forgotten his face long ago, and hadn’t liked him much to start with, but he had given his life to save Gendry’s and hers, and the others traveling with them to the Wall, and Gendry wouldn’t ever forget that.

“I tried,” he finally responded, voice low and thick with emotion, “she ran off, I looked for her for days.”

Yoren eyed him scathingly. “Did you now?” He drawled out as he eyed a sword on the work bench, “Don’t lie to me, you sorry son of a whore, or I’ll part that head of yours from your body.”

“I did, I swear!” Gendry exclaimed in panic as Yoren slowly reached for the sword, but it was short lived. Just as he was about to reach it, his gnarled fingers flexed and dropped back to his side.

“You may have looked for her afterwards,” the wandering crow snarled, “but she wouldn’t have left had you not decided to leave her behind in the first place. She left because of you.”

“I had to,” Gendry insisted, “there was no other way. We would have been separated.”

The old ghost glared back, “There was. You had a choice.”

Angry tears stung Gendry’s eyes, “I didn’t, I had no choice. I was too bloody lowborn to ever be kept around her. There was no way,” he paused, struggling to catch his breath before he continued, “there was no way we could have stayed friends once she was back with her family. They wouldn’t have allowed it.”

Yoren scoffed in response, “You had a choice, boy, deny it all you want, but you did. And then you left her, and she was unprotected. I died for her, I died for _you,_ and now look what’s happened. She’s gone. You were supposed to protect her.”

Gendry’s only response was to scream through the hot tears and throw his hammer aimlessly. He backed into the wall, and slide down to the floor with his head in his hands.

The old crow was right. He did have a choice. He did, and he made the one wrong one. He knew it before he made it, but he made it all the same, thinking it was for the best. He chose a life without her over more time with her, and now she was gone. Now he was reaping the misery he had sowed for himself.

“But you know what you have to do, boy.”

Gendry’s head snapped up, and he shook his head frantically. “No, I won’t. I won’t go with her.”

“You must, boy,” Yoren urged, “You must, she’ll be here soon and you have to go with her. Her life depends on it.”

“I don’t give a shit about her life!” Gendry bellowed back.

Yoren stared at him curiously for a moment, and then grunted. “You do, boy. You do.”

Gendry growled as he picked up his hammer from the floor, mouth open to reply once more, but when he straightened, he was alone again.

-

It was a frigid night of rain fall when everything began crashing down on him.

He was running through the forest, screaming her name as he chased after her. Gendry ran, and ran, and ran, until he broke through the tree line and saw the dark castles looming in front of him.

Lightning struck in the distance, and for a moment he saw the bodies hanging from the battlements clear as day. He ran forward, past their grey faces and crows pecking at their rotting flesh. He ran across the lowered drawbridge and through the portcullis into the courtyard. There were corpses everywhere. Broken and bloodied and burnt, he weaved his way through them towards the castle doors. Crows flew back and forth in front of him as he ran past a body with a wolf’s head atop its shoulders, but he paid them no mind. He had to find her.

He finally reached the castle, and the great wooden doors creaked ominously as he pushed through them into the hall of horrors.

Gendry searched frantically through the bodies strewn about. His heart thudded in his chest and his breath came more quickly with every body that wasn’t the one he was looking for. Hope coursed through him until he reached the dais, and saw a small hand sticking out from underneath the tablecloth, a small skinny sword still in its clutches.

His heart dropped into his stomach as his lungs pushed out an involuntary strangled cry. Gendry fell to his knees, reaching for the hand when a loud boom of thunder filled the room –

Gendry bolted upright, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. He looked to the small window to his left, and watched the rain fall outside of it as he attempted to steady his breathing.

When he no longer felt as though he was drowning, Gendry let out a long sigh and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing the sleep and tears from his eyes.

It was the same nightmare as the night before, and the night before that; the same nightmare that plagued him since he had seen Yoren again.

Knowing he would be unable to go back to sleep, Gendry slipped from his bed and dressed. Deciding to get an early start to his work, he padded out to the forge and lit the logs in the hearth. He was staring absently into the growing fire when he heard a voice behind him.

“What do you see in the flames, lad?”

Startled, Gendry whirled around and his jaw dropped.

The man stood in front of his anvil, peering back at Gendry with his one good eye. His tattered clothes hung from his battered body underneath the gnarled breastplate Gendry had tried his best to mend long ago.

“Do you see the wars to come, see your part in them?” the Lightning Lord continued before Gendry could answer. “Do you see her?”

Gendry’s annoyance quickly overcame his shock at the sight of Beric Dondarrion, “I see smoke and glowing embers. Nothing more.”

Beric smiled as he stepped towards Gendry. “I thought so, you were never much of a believer. Do you want to know what I’ve seen, though?” He spoke quietly, but the Lightning Lord’s deep, gravelly voice seemed to fill the room like a scream.

Gendry may have resigned himself to madness after seeing Yoren, but he was too _tired_ for this right now, “Go ahead, then.” He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ve seen dead men clamoring over frozen walls,” Beric began as he approached Gendry, “I’ve seen the winds of winter blowing destruction across the North, making its way to the rest of Westeros. I’ve seen a she-wolf with her pack, new and old, meeting it head on. And you – I’ve seen you at her side.”

Gendry was done. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “So, I’m to follow Stoneheart to wherever and then what? Go looking for the wolves that are terrorizing the Riverlands and hope they want to be my friends?” He scoffed and then started laughing, “I really have lost it, haven’t I? No sane man would believe any of this shit, let alone hallucinate them in the first place. And if you think I’m going anywhere with that wretched woman you’re just as insane as me.”

Beric gave him a sympathetic smile, and reached to clap him on the shoulder before seeming to decide against it and dropping his hand. “You’re not crazy, lad. Heed my words, Gendry. She’ll be here on the morrow. You must follow her. She needs you just as much as you need her.”

“I do not NEED her,” Gendry snarled, “And she’ll be just fine without me.”

A wolf howled in the distance, and Gendry snapped his head towards the window behind him. The rain was coming down hard and fast but was unable to drown it out. It had been a long time since he heard any wolves that close by.

“She always needed you.”

Beric’s whisper broke him from his reverie, but when Gendry turned back around, he was gone.

-

The first winter snow was falling the next day when he heard her enter his forge.

The rain had softened and then frozen shortly after Beric disappeared, and when Gendry emerged from his forge at first light to break his fast at the inn, the ground was covered in a blanket of snow.

He thought about Beric’s visions as he broke his fast in mostly silence, grunting his way through whatever conversation Willow was trying to have with him. When he was done he rushed back to the forge and packed up his meager belongings.

Knowing Stoneheart would be there soon, he tasked himself with finishing up the few projects he had been working on, as he had no idea if or when he’d be back. He finished by midday, and was scrubbing at his soot-covered skin with a wet rag when he heard the door open and someone shuffle in behind him, snow crunching lightly beneath their feet.

The visitor didn’t speak, so he took it upon himself to speak first as he continued to scrub away the day’s work.

“Stoneheart here then?” He asked, an annoyed tone to his voice, “I’ll grab my pack and come out when I’m done.”

“She’s not coming.”

Gendry dropped the rag into the bucket in shock, bracing himself before he slowly turned around.

His heart broke into a million pieces once again as he took in the sight of her before him. The memories of the night she ran off flooded through him, and the nightmares it had inspired. At Beric’s behest, the Brotherhood had continued to search for her. It wasn’t until after they had discovered that The Hound had caught her before they could and wanted to ransom her to her brother at the Twins that he had lost all hope of ever seeing her again. Of her even being alive.

She looked much the same, but different at the same time. Her hair was longer than he remembered, just past her shoulders and she had the top half tied up. She was still short, but there was a layer of maturity about her, especially in her face. It was not as childlike as he recalled, long but not as round as it had been in his memories, and it struck him them how he had completely missed that she was pretty.

And then she huffed and rolled her eyes, just like he remembered she always did to him, “Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to say something, stupid?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times as he searched for something, anything to say, but he didn’t know where to start. He cursed his traitorous brain for conjuring up the most torturous hallucination it could.

She didn’t take Gendry’s silence well, and stalked over, glaring up at him as she stood a hair’s breadth away. She had left the door open, and the cold had seeped in enough to cause her breaths to come out in visible puffs. Gendry knit his brows together in confusion.

“What?” She growled out, “You have that painful look on your face you get when you think too hard.”

I just- I…” he started, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what to say and glanced down at the floor. All the times he thought about what he’d say to her if he ever saw here again, and here she was, a ghost in front of him giving him the opportunity, and he was falling short.

Where was he to start?

_I’m sorry I chose the Brotherhood over you? I’m sorry that I let my insecurities get the best of me? I’m sorry I didn’t find you before The Hound did? I’m sorry that you died at the Twins, and I wasn’t there to save you? I’m sorry that I didn’t die with you?_

Sorry didn’t feel like enough, not then, and he didn’t think it ever would.

He slowly brought his gaze back to her, and for the third time in recent memory, he felt his eyes fill with tears as he looked into the steel grey eyes of the only true friend he ever had.

“Arya, I’m sorry,” He began, and then it was as if the dam broke, and everything he ever wanted to say to her came out at once, “I’m sorry that I let our stations get in the way of our friendship, and I’m sorry that I chose the Brotherhood over you. I should have gone with you, you know. I mean, look at me. Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill, bastard knight who only knows how to make swords, not swing them, slaving away to make and mend weapons for some crazy demon lady! All because I let my insecurities get in the way, and now…” he took a deep, shaky breath, “And now you’re gone, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I should have been there and maybe you wouldn’t have died, and I’m just- I’m just so sorry, Arya.”

His tears fell freely and he covered his face as he wept. She was silent, and it wasn’t until he dropped his hands that he noticed the confused look on her face.

“Gone?” She said incredulously, waving her arms around in exasperation, “Dead? What are you talking about? I’m standing right here in front of you! You’re much stupider than I remember.” Gendry couldn’t help but chuckle in his delirium.

“Of course, ghost you would still be right pain in my arse,” he laughed again, “I didn’t think I’d miss m’lady calling me stupid, and yet here I am.” He finished with a sad smile.

Arya looked at him like he had grown a second head, “ _Ghost_ me? What are you on about? And how many times do I have to say it, don’t call me m’lady!” She punctuated her last word with a punch to his arm, and Gendry swore he almost died.

His hand came up quicker than he ever thought he could be and gripped hers tightly, feeling the sweetest warmth from her hand in his. He marveled at it for a moment, until he brought his eyes back to her face. His sudden outburst had stunned her, and she stood still in front of him, eyeing him warily. He paid that no mind, though, as he brought his free hand up to her face, his fingers ever so gently grazing her warm, flushed cheek.

“You’re here.” He gaped in awe, “You’re real, and alive, and you’re here.”

She gave him another confused look, “Yes, I’ve been here interacting with you for several minutes now, and you’re just now noticing?” she arched an eyebrow, “I only meant it sometimes when I called you stupid, maybe I should’ve meant it more.”

He stared at here a moment longer, eyes wide, and then he laughed. Oh, how he laughed.

He laughed so hard he could barely open his eyes. Tears streamed down his face for a different reason now, and he double over, clutching at his stomach. His laughter must have angered her, because she punched him in the arm again. But Gendry didn’t mind. He didn’t mind because it meant she was touching him, and she was real, and she was _here._

Gendry shot back up and swept her up in his arms, lifting her from the floor and spun her around. Arya squealed as her arms wrapped around his neck, yelling for him to put her down. He spun her again instead, his laughter piercing through the air as Arya finally joined in with her own laughter in his ear.

He gave her a hard squeeze before he finally lowered her back to the floor, but he did not let her go.

No, he wouldn’t ever do that again.

He pulled away enough to look her in the face, taking in the sight of her in a whole new light.

“I thought you were dead.” Gendry finally began explaining, still awestruck at the fact that she was in his arms, “We had heard The Hound had gotten you and taken you to the Twins to your brother. When we heard about the Red Wedding but nothing about you, I… I admit I thought the worst.”

She squeezed his shoulders when he grew sullen at his confession, and gave him a small smile. “I was there, and it was horrible, and I’ll tell you everything later, but I made it out alive.”

He returned her smile, “I see that. But where have you been?”

“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you everything on the road, I promise.” She answered, her smile brightening.

His eyes widened with a sudden realization, and he pulled away, his hands moving from her waist to her shoulders, “Shit, Arya, your mother, she’s –“

“Dead.” Arya interrupted, her smile disappearing as she brought her own hands up to grip his forearms tightly.

Gendry shook his head, “No she’s not. Well, not anymore. Beric, he brought her back, and-“

“Gendry, I know,” she said, giving his arms a squeeze to stop him where he was, “I happened upon her and the Brotherhood last night on my way here to find you. She gave me a gift, and I gave her one in return. Now I have to go home.”

He gave her a skeptical look, “what do you mean you gave her a gift?”

Arya smiled sadly at him and finally pulled herself fully from his arms, looking at him hesitantly, “I gave her the gift of mercy.”

It took a moment for Gendry to process what she meant, but when he did he closed the gap that shouldn’t have been there between them immediately. He wrapped his arms around her again, holding onto her intently.

“I’m so sorry, Arya,” he whispered as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“Thank you,” she said into his neck after a few moments, before leaning away enough to look him in the eye again. Her face was stoic, but Gendry felt the telltale sign of her sorrow wet on his neck.

“What gift did she give you then?” He asked, and she pulled away fully again, and Gendry found himself disappointed in her absence from his embrace.

Arya reached into the pack slung across her torso, and pulled a cloth bundle from it. She held it out, and carefully pulled the covering away, revealing a crown made of bronze. It was simply designed, adorned with just nine small spikes in the shape of longswords, and the circlet engraved with some runes Gendry had never seen before.

“It was my brother Robb’s,” Arya explained as Gendry took it gently from her hands to inspect it more closely, “When he was King in the North. She held onto it this whole time because she knew I wasn’t dead, and I’m the only one left. She got the Brotherhood to swear fealty to me, they’re all outside waiting for me. For us.” She swallowed, and looked up at him with a quiet nervousness. “You’ll come with me, right? I need you with me, Gendry.”

A smile slowly grew on his face, “Of course.”

She hadn’t said it outright, but Gendry understood the implication of Stoneheart giving her the crown. He set it back into the cloth in her hands, and she carefully wrapped it and put it back into her pack. Gendry crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Arya with a smug smirk on her face.

When she had safely tucked it back into her pack, she looked back up at him and noticed the look he was giving her.

“What’s that look for then?” She asked, arching a brow at him inquisitively.

“Oh nothing,” he answered nonchalantly, “ _Your Grace.”_ He then dropped down into an over exaggerated bow. She promptly thwacked him on the back of his head.

“Stand up straight, stupid. And if you bow to me again I’ll gut you where you stand.” She was glaring at him again when he did as she asked, but Gendry knew there was no malice behind it.

“As you wish, _Your Grace,_ ” he teased, sidestepping her next blow, “Whatever you need, _your grace._ ”

She surprisingly didn’t react that time, just gave him an annoyed look and gestured behind him, “Go grab your things, everyone’s waiting and we have a long journey ahead of us.”

He nodded, and turned away, hurrying to his room. He grabbed his own pack and blew out the candle before heading back out to Arya.

“Where to then?” he asked, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the forge. He had his ideas, but he shook his head before she could answer, “Actually, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Why’s that?” She asked as he she pulled him towards the stables. He stopped then, tugging her arm for her to the do the same. She did, and turned to look at him.

“Because I’ll follow you wherever you go,” he answered, “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me to.” He gave her a soft smile, one she returned immediately.

“Good, cause that’s where we’re going.” Arya smiled and spun away, but didn’t let go of his hand. “My mother was wrong. I’m not the only one left. First stop is the Wall to see Jon. Rumor has it he’s amassed an army of Wildlings to aid the Night’s Watch, and we’ll need them if we want to take Winterfell back from the Boltons.”

She swung open one of the stall doors, taking her pack off and strapping it to the saddle of the horse.

“You remember how to ride, right?” She teasingly inquired as she took her horse by the reins and began to lead it out of the stables. Gendry couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her as he followed her lead with his own horse.

“Yes, I remember how to ride. Still don’t like it much, though.” He grumbled half-heartedly.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to it,” Arya shot back with a smirk as they approached the waiting Brotherhood. They were already all mounted, and Arya and Gendry quickly joined them.

The group parted for them, and Arya led her horse through. Gendry following closely behind her to the front of the retinue.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he quipped as they officially began their long journey up the King’s Road, “don’t think I’d spend weeks on end on a horse for anyone, you know.”

She looked over at him as they rode, studying his face for a moment before returning her gaze to the road in front of her. “Thank you, Gendry, for coming with me.”

“Of course,” he said, returning her sincerity. “Where you go I go, Arya.”

He cleared his throat. “I mean _Your Grace.”_

“Shut up, stupid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading.
> 
> I would really love to hear what you thought about it, as it's my first attempt at something angsty. Comments are so appreciated, either here or on Tumblr: prettyyyvacant


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